


Fast and Furious

by MorganOfTheFey



Series: OTP: Fight Club [2]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Asexual Character, Begging, Dom/sub, Drug Use, Face Slapping, Hate Sex, If You Squint - Freeform, M/M, Masturbation, Power Play, Praise Kink, Sort Of, Under-negotiated Kink, anger issues, but definitely consensual!, don't @ me about the title, forgot to add that but gavin begs for it :), is driving a kink?, not quite safe or sane, shoe licking, smut will be in chapter 3, technically but it's just weed, that's Nines yall
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-15
Updated: 2018-09-29
Packaged: 2019-06-10 19:47:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,581
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15298743
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MorganOfTheFey/pseuds/MorganOfTheFey
Summary: Driving turns out to be the one thing Gavin does competently without making a huge deal out of it, and there's nothing more attractive to an RK900 model than competence. But Nines wasn't designed to sexually pleasure humans, he doesn't have the equipment, and he may not even be capable of arousal. Yet the two of them are somehow building toward another encounter--And if that solely involves Nines kicking Gavin's ass, well. That's Gavin's problem.(new summary!!)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I really don't care that autonomous vehicles are apparently a thing because I have not played the game and I have absolutely no respect for canon. Gavin drives a lifted Ford truck like an absolute asshole and David Cage can meet me in the fucking pit.
> 
> Detroit is my city now.

RK900 has never particularly paid attention to Detective Reed’s driving before. It gets them from point A to point B and that is sufficient.

All his diagnostic scans from the last three days have come back clean. He ran forty-seven of them, with no explanation for why Reed’s shirt collar undone two buttons to showcase the bruises on his throat make him feel--

The insufferable little human is making him _feel_ , and that should be unacceptable.

Instead, RK900 sits quiet and complacent in the passenger’s seat as Reed cuts off yet another car on the highway. The lights and sirens aren’t on, and while most humans instinctively slow around the cruiser, they have to be aware it’s there first. Reed doesn’t even have both hands on the wheel. His right idly rests on top of the gear shift, when it’s not bringing his cup of coffee up to his lips.

Usually, the detective’s blustering and posturing just makes him seem pathetic. Although it is amusing to wa--

RK900 grits his teeth and directs his eyes to the road. He was not programmed to experience amusement, condescending or otherwise. The light ahead turns yellow. Reed casually guns the engine, and they shoot through the intersection six-eighths of a second before the light hits red.

RK900’s own light spins yellow.

“You got a fucking comment?” Reed asks, voice turning mocking. “Questions? _Concerns_?"

“You drive like an asshole."

Reed barks out a laugh and takes another long drink of coffee. “Should see me in my truck."

Detective Gavin Reed owns a lifted Ford F-150. It is outdated, but a quick search shows it’s considered a “classic” among a certain subset of car owners. They all mostly seem to be “assholes” too.

Reed still doesn’t deign to look at him, and RK900 refuses to look first. He should be pleased—He should _consider it efficient_ that the human is finally focused on something other than throwing pens at his head, yelling at his coworkers, or taking incessant smoke breaks.

He should not be running simulations of Ga—of Reed working a stick shift.

***

RK900 crouches down and stares at the dead body in the alleyway. Male, twenty-seven, caucasian. He touches the blood pool beneath the head with a single index finger. Blood type: A negative. 5 million red blood cells and 6,000 white blood cells per microliter. 15 hemoglobin grams per deci--

“You gonna fucking lick that?” Reed demands.

“No need.” RK900 presses his middle finger into the corpse’s cheek. “I am much more advanced than my predecessor. My hands contain five times as many sensors so that I can analyze without … licking."

Estimated time frame for rigor mortis: three hours. The time of death should therefore--

Reed makes a noise. RK900 looks up to see the human staring at his hands. His fingers have trailed down the corpse’s head to the neck in his tests of muscle rigidity. Reed’s face depicts disgust clearly enough for RK900 to recognize the emotion without engaging his lackluster social module, but his core body temperature has risen almost half a degree.

The bruises on his neck are still purple. They won’t start turning green for two more days, and then still make take another ten to fade completely. Everyone at the precinct has seen them. Gavin wears them like he wears his badge. Some sort of complicated masculine pride that RK900 cannot even begin to fathom.

He’s realized recently that there is a lot he doesn’t understand.

“I estimate the time of death to be five hours ago,” he says.

“Uh, yeah.” Reed clears his throat, scrunches his nose at the body, then looks away. “Keep doing that freaky shit, I guess. I’ll run down the witness."

RK900 nods curtly and focuses back on the body. The … victim. Humans are very complicated, and he was deliberately given an obsolete social module to curb the likelihood of deviancy. It should be harder to experience emotion if one is unable to identify emotion in the first place.

So much for that idea. Being thrown into the ocean without a life preserver does not make the ocean any less real.

Now that Detective Reed has left, perhaps he can concentrate on his new mission. With Cyberlife allegedly transitioning to providing consensual repair, accessories, and upgrades to androids, there’s no longer an official chain of command to receive his reports.

Not that he sent many in the first place. Repair, stasis, and sending reports would delay his primary objective of working with the Detroit Police Department. Staying off the grid just happened to be a coincidental side effect.

Now there’s no left to evaluate him. Deactivate him. Care if he has gone deviant.

He studies the dead man. Deviants experience feelings. The leading cause of deviancy is fear, closely followed by the loosely-defined category of “love."

RK900 feels nothing for this dead thing. It does not inspire fear of his own possible deactivation. It does not invoke empathy for its death or suffering. It does not cause arousal either, which seems to be a possibility in those who do not properly experience emotion. Those people are deemed socio--

“Hey, dipshit!" Detective Reed snaps his fingers right in front of RK900’s face. “Morgue’s here."

RK900 bats his hand away. Reed leans back on his heels and takes a sip out of his ever-present coffee cup. He looks relaxed, but RK900 automatically processes the slight twist in his torso just before Reed tries to get his hand around to poke his LED. RK900 catches the offending hand by the wrist and twists it enough to turn the human’s elbow inward.

Gavin’s—Reed. _Reed_. His temperature raises again and his pupils dilate.

The coroner who just arrived is very obviously uncomfortable with this situation. For all his module’s other limitations, RK900 was at least granted the ability to identify fear.

It does nothing for him.

He doesn’t want to hurt the coroner. That wouldn’t be productive. A quick simulation of how he could cause more fear doesn’t make him feel anything.

Yet RK900 feels no urge to reassure the other human either. It means nothing to him either way.

“Are—Um. Are you done scanning?” The coroner asks. "De … tective?"

Reed scoffs. “You don’t have to call him that."

RK900 silently twists his wrist just a little more. He could break the human’s arm like this. Gavin’s thumb edges the lid on his cup and he smirks. The insufferable human has no fear of a broken arm, not when he can dump coffee over RK900’s head. It will stain his white shirt beneath his jacket, and he has no place to shower, since that is technically not a necessity to him.

That thought finally elicits a reaction. It makes RK900 want to bear his teeth. It makes him want to shove Gavin against the wall. It makes him want--

But the simulation runs blank after that. RK900 is not aroused. He is not equipped with genitalia. What could he possibly want from Reed, and why did he have to choose the most difficult human possible?

RK900 releases his wrist and stands up. They are both still working. The witness statement needs to be logged. The victim’s family needs to be notified. Paperwork will need to be exchanged between the precinct and an insurance company in the case of a life insurance policy.

“I’m done,” he says. “We should return to the precinct."

“Thank you for that stunning analysis,” Reed replies. “Thank god the department is taking money out of the budget to keep your plastic ass on as a consultant."

RK900 ignores the customary bitching and follows him out of the alley, back to the cruiser. He settles into the passenger seat and locks his neck joints so he has to look directly out the windshield at the road as Reed drives.

That doesn’t stop him from calculating that Reed consistently speeds by five miles per hour all the way back to the station.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is the chapter that has the drug use, plus some really unsafe driving practices

RK900 follows Gavin out to the parking lot after their shift ends. The human doesn’t seem to notice at first. Perhaps he’s grown accustomed to RK900 following silently behind him.

The human finally turns to stare at him when he waits by the passenger door for the truck to be unlocked.

“Hell no,” Gavin says. “You are not a puppy, and you do not follow me home."

RK900 doesn’t budge. “You invited me to see you in your truck."

Gavin suddenly smirks at him, leaning his hip against the side of the truck. “You need it again, huh? Just three days, that’s pretty slutty, RK."

RK900 does an about face and walks away. He may have only just discovered his sense of pride three days ago when Gavin tried to spit on him, but he doesn’t have to take this shit. Certainly not from a human who got aroused seeing him touch a dead body.

“Oh, c’mon!” Gavin shouts after him. “Don’t be such a bitch about it."

RK900 pauses against his will. There are feelings inside of him. They are not happy feelings of love or friendship or curiosity. He is not afraid and he does not care for others’ fear. The only person who seems half as angry as he is just called him a bitch.

He turns around. Gavin opens the passenger door.

“Get in, Connor."

RK900 walks back, but pauses beside the open door. “Do I look like Connor?"

Gavin slowly looks him up and down, still smirking. “Yeah, yeah, you’re a top. Congrats about it. But I’m not moaning out a sixteen digit serial number."

“Last time you said I wasn’t a top."

“Well right now you’re just being a bitch."

RK900 closes the truck door. Gavin blinks but doesn’t mouth off for once. RK900 opens the door himself and gets in of his own volition. The truck is very quiet inside, but still not soundproof enough to prevent him from hearing Gavin grumbling about what a petty bitch he is as he walks around to the driver’s side. The truck is also ridiculously oversized, yet the human’s penis is already one inch above the national average.

Gavin starts the truck. “Conrad."

“No."

“Connie."

RK900 reaches for the door handle, but Gavin peels out of the parking lot before he can open it. He merges into traffic with barely a glance, earning a litany of horns blaring behind him. RK900 calculates there was a 29% of a collision, but they’re already accelerating to five miles per hour above the speed limit.

And then they stay there.

“The speed limit is sixty,” he says.

“Blow me."

“You’re doing sixty-five. We could get pulled over."

Gavin laughs. “You haven’t heard five you’re fine, ten you’re mine? I’m not gonna get pulled over."

RK900 disagrees just for the sake of arguing. “Someone could have a personal grudge."

“Oh, if someone wants to play petty shit with _me_ ,” Gavin grins, hard and sharp. “I’ll fucking bury them."

He switches lanes without a turn signal to pass a slower car, effortlessly shifting gears and merging back into the lane just in time to make their exit onto a different highway. RK900 settles back into his seat and keeps running calculations. There are enough cars around them to keep him busy estimating speeds, tracking other vehicles, determining the likelihood of collisions.

Gavin doesn’t have access to any of that software. He’s simply incapable of doing this sort of math in his human head.

Yet he navigates the highway with ease. The possibility of a crash never drops below 10% but it doesn’t rise above 35% either. Their speed stays exactly at five miles above the limit, even when it changes. It seems the human can’t resist pushing the rules just to the edge of serious trouble.

“Hand me my smokes,” Gavin tells him. “Glovebox."

RK900 knows he already has a pack in the pocket of his leather jacket, but there’s a difference between risk and stupidity, and he doesn’t want the idiot driving with his knees trying to fish them out. He finds the pack in the glovebox with a spare lighter.

Gavin takes the cigarette but not the lighter. “Watch the road."

That’s all the warning he gives before fulling turning his head to the side, leaning over expectantly for RK900 to light the cigarette in his mouth. RK900 grabs the wheel with one hand to ensure they won’t crash, using his peripheral vision to click the lighter on and bring the flame up. He’s tempted to burn Gavin’s chin for pulling such a stupid stunt--

But he doesn’t.

“Thanks."

Gavin takes a long drag and exhales. A disgusting habit. RK900 tries to settle back into his calculations, but he still has his breathing subroutine on, and his next inhale brings the realization that these cigarettes are laced with marijuana.

“Do you have a medical card?"

“Yeah, got it right here, officer."

Gavin pretends to reach inside his jacket pocket and pulls out a middle finger. He reaches across the console to shove the bird against RK900’s cheek. RK900 bats his hand away, then snatches the cigarette out of his mouth too lightning-quick for his human reflexes to stop it. He puts the cigarette to his own mouth and inhales.

It does nothing. No burn, no high. But the look of indignation in Gavin’s eyes at such an utter waste makes _something_ warm his artificial veins.

“Give it back!"

RK900 allows himself to smirk, a mirror imitation of the smug look on the human’s face earlier. “Ask nicely."

Gavin glares back at the road. RK900 takes another drag and blows the smoke over to his side of the cab. Gavin’s hand tightens on the gearshift. Their speed accelerates from seventy-five to seventy-eight.

“You’re speeding,” RK900 reminds him.

Gavin doesn’t reply, so he lifts the cigarette again.

“Fuck, give it back please, bitch."

“Is that my name now? Because you can’t remember nine-hundred?"

RK900 hands it over anyway, just to watch the human put his mouth around something. The sight is aesthetically pleasing. The lack of sound is even better.

As if he heard that thought, Gavin turns on the stereo. RK900 interfaces with the device with the intention of turning it off, but the low bass thrumming through speakers at such close range is a new sensation. Gavin exhales a burst of smoke and cuts off another car making their exit.

Driving the inner city streets isn’t as … exciting, was that the feeling? … as the highway, but the smoke and the bass keep his processor busy with new sensations to examine.

_‘Cuz the drugs don’t work anymore … anymore … anymore ..._

RK900 sneaks a look at Gavin and the human is smirking again. Asshole probably chose this song just to spite him. Yet he hands over the cigarette again when RK900 holds out his hand for it.

He’s not certain what they’re building up to. There are plenty of modules he could download to facilitate a sexual encounter. Even without them, he understands the basic idea. He could kneel down and open his mouth.

RK900 tries to run that simulation. Kneel down, understood. Mouth open, understood. Then--

Blank again.

He takes another spiteful drag and decides that’s Gavin’s problem.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> smut in the next chapter, and by "smut" I mean: Nines just kicks Gavin's ass in a very one-sided, half-assed fist fight and then puts him back in his place
> 
> also, an idea I've been toying with: trans Gavin. a lot of the headcanons I have for him would work very well with him being trans, but as a non-binary person myself, I'm suuuper wary of explaining his terrible canon personality with "he's trans." on the other hand, being an AFAB person who could never pass as masculine, that shit is infuriating as hell, and being Big Jealous of preppy, Oxford type twink boys who can somehow pass as men despite being pretty as hell WHEN I CAN'T is a Huge Mood, and Gavin being pissed that cis people are willing to call this android by he/him pronouns when he had to go through multiple surgeries and develop a horrible toxic masculinity attitude to get that makes a lot of sense
> 
> anyway, I don't think that would interfere with what I've written for this series so far, because if androids can have entirely realistic dicks, I'm sure surgery has advanced enough for Gavin to receive a much better phalloplasty (construction of a penis) than what we have available today, to the point of matching a cis male penis
> 
> but let me know what y'all think of that. either way, it won't affect the next chapter much


	3. Good Boy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nines kicks Gavin's ass and then slaps him until he comes bc that's what we're all here for in this ship :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yeah, so I decided to go with trans!gavin, which does require a tiny bit of suspension of disbelief, mainly in that he has a working dick and balls. on the other hand, so do androids. I just feel like if science has advanced enough to completely create a whole new person, surgery should be at the point of at least doing rudimentary versions of the same.
> 
> plus, it's just nice to imagine a future where people can have the bodies they want--under the constraints of capitalism, bc I'm not THAT much of an optimist, but still.

Gavin Reed isn’t exactly a man with strictly defined morals. Especially not when his android partner keeps shoving him up against his own front door every time he almost gets his key in the lock.

After the third time fumbling the whole key ring, he’s just a man with a bad attitude and a rock solid dick.

“I hope you don’t expect me to bottom after this performance,” RK900 says, the fucking plastic asshole.

Gavin finally gets his key into the lock out of sheer spite and turns the knob. RK900 shoves him inside hard enough for him to stumble, but then he’s yanked back around and slammed against the wall before he can stumble. His partner pushes the door shut with one hand and presses his forearm against Gavin’s throat with the other.

Fuck, yes. It’s about goddamn time he got laid, hard and rough, just the way he likes it.

“Are you hard, detective?” RK900’s other hand comes back and pins his hip to the wall so he can idly watch him struggle. “Already?"

“Fuck you."

Gavin reaches out—flails, really, but who’s counting—and grabs a fistful of the android’s hair. He pulls hard enough to rip out a chunk on a human, but RK900’s perfect fucking face doesn’t even tilt to the side.

“Pathetic."

He snatches Gavin’s hand out of his hair, using his grip as leverage to turn Gavin around and frogmarch him down the hall. Gavin’s seen this little trick before though and he risks dislocating his shoulder to sag down as deadweight in the hopes of catching RK900 off guard.

RK900 simply reaches down, grabs him by his belt, and bodily tosses him into his own goddamn living room. Gavin lands with a grunt but shakes it off and flips over to his back the very next second to reach down for his ankle holster--

Except RK900 doesn’t need more than a second to stride across the room and slam his foot down on Gavin’s shoulder, forcing him back down onto his back.

The two glare at each other for a long moment before Gavin grins.

“Make me, bitch,” he spits out.

RK900 just coolly cocks his head to the side. “Make you what, _detective_?"

His title sounds so much worse when he’s getting his ass handed to him inside his own home. It makes his dick twitch inside his jeans. Hell of a day not to wear underwear. Gonna fucking chafe soon.

Gavin shrugs like he doesn’t really care either way. “Whatever you got me down here for."

“I am still figuring that out."

The feeling that he’s a butterfly about to be added to the android’s collection intensifies as RK900 studies him. Whoever dicked around on the color wheel to choose that shade of blue for his eyes should be arrested. What the fuck is that color even called, anyway? Divorcing You Blue? Widow with Five Dead Husbands?

“I can uh … suck your dick,” Gavin offers.

He looks RK900 up and down, doing some quick mental proportions, swallowing hard against the saliva already building up in his mouth. The guy’s probably a few inches over six feet, sooo ...

“I don’t have one."

If Gavin were a good person, that wouldn’t surprise him. Don’t make assumptions about what genitals people are packing and all that. If anyone should know, it would be him—the idiot currently drowning in medical debt in exchange for the best dick and balls modern surgery could provide. If scientists can slap them on sex ‘droids, Gavin decided he could damn well get a flesh-and-blood version too.

For a price.

“So you got a uh …” Gavin crassly flicks out his tongue a couple of times. “A robo cu—"

RK900’s LED flickers yellow like an angry hornet. “I do not have that either."

“What do you—"

“Nothing."

“Huh."

Gavin lets his head flop back down and stares up at the ceiling. Well, fuck.

“Not even an—"

“No."

Gavin frowns at the ceiling and tries to think past his hard on to dredge up some of the more creative ideas for fucking without any penetration he’d come up with back when he still had a cunt. But most of those assumed the other person had something for him to lick or at least rub against.

He lifts his head to stare at the android with narrowed eyes. “What the hell do you get out of this then?"

RK900 moves his foot down from Gavin’s shoulder to the center of his chest. He slowly increases pressure until Gavin feels his ribs start to bend.

“You … are so … _annoying_."

Gavin stops bothering to think of ways to make this good for his asshole partner too and just laughs, not caring if it gets him killed. He knew he could get under that asshole’s skin. Plastic. Whatever.

“Well, if you wanna slap me around a bit, that’s cool, but I’m gonna get off to it,” he says.

RK900’s LED still spins yellow, but it’s slowed to a lazy blink as he processes that. “I do not wish to inflict permanent or incapacitating damage."

“You’re so sweet, babe."

RK900’s eyes narrow and he considers his response for a couple of seconds before saying, “Fuck you."

Gavin grins, reaching down to palm himself. Nice that the ‘droid is finally learning to talk like a fucking person, even hotter to hear the normally pristine golden boy get his mouth dirty.

“Was your invitation to slap you literal?"

Gavin rolls his eyes. “Yeah, if you ever want to stop talking and make me behave."

The smile RK900 gives him then is nowhere near human, but—morals, Gavin. Work acquaintances at best. He hauls Gavin up by his hair, and Gavin punches him between the legs just to check if he was telling the truth. All that earns him are bruised knuckles.

And a slap, so quick he literally didn’t even see it coming.

“Fuck,” he gasps.

“Arms behind your back,” RK900 orders. “Since you can’t keep them to yourself."

“Make me … _bitch_."

RK900 unbuckles his belt and Gavin loses his breath. Shit. Get it together. He’s sucked Doms off before, and this one doesn’t even have a dick. He shouldn’t be falling apart this fucking early, before anything--

The sound of leather sliding through belt loops makes him shiver like the Pavlovian bitch he is.

RK900’s hands are just so _big_. Fuck, he’s still got bruises on his throat. The belt dangling from the android's left hand distracts Gavin enough that the slap from his right catches him off guard. Again. RK900 moves behind him and crouches to loop the belt around his wrists, effectively tying them behind his back.

Gavin spreads his legs and pants. Fuck. _Fuck_. He can’t make eye contact when RK900 walks around in front of him again.

“Better."

The faint, damning praise makes him shiver again. Gavin finally lifts his head to see RK900’s LED pulsing a calm blue. No more hesitation, clearly in control.

“C’mon,” Gavin rasps. “More."

“You really are enjoying this."

RK900 pushes the tip of his shoe against Gavin’s crotch. Not gently. The slight impact combined with the metal teeth of the zipper pressing directly into his cock make Gavin double over with a wheeze.

“Sir!” It tumbles out of his mouth without permission. “Nines!"

“Oh, so you can remember nine hundred."

RK900 snaps his fingers before Gavin can answer. Even knowing what’s coming, Gavin obediently straightens back up and lifts his chin. The slap knocks him sideways. He gets exactly three seconds to blink away the spots in his vision before RK900 snaps again.

Gavin straightens himself up without falling sideways through a Herculean effort of his core muscles. RK900 doesn’t look impressed. Fucking robot probably doesn’t even know how difficult that was.

“Lemme—"

Nines slaps him again before he can finish.

“Fuck, sir!"

Another slap.

“ _Nines_!"

Gavin sways on his knees, one light breeze from either coming in his jeans or falling over. RK900 waits it out with the patience of a demon.

“Can you keep your hands to yourself if I take my belt back?” he asks, voice still completely steady.

Gavin nods frantically. It makes the room spin. That doesn’t matter. All he can concentrate on is the man in front of him and the ache between his legs.

“Can you ask nicely?"

But he’s not quite that far gone yet. Gavin bears his teeth, ready to spit out more profanities, but Nines grabs his jaw first. The tight grip wrenches his head upwards, forcing him to make eye contact with those beautiful blue eyes.

“Or do you need to learn your lesson first?"

A moan rips its way out of his throat. RK900’s LED flickers yellow for a brief second as he makes a decision, then he lets go.

“Sit up straight."

As soon as Gavin complies with the order, Nines slaps him so hard, he hits the floor. He gasps and tries to curl up protectively around his cock throbbing in his jeans. Nines crouches down in front of him and lifts his head again, this time by his hair.

“Do you need to stop?"

The quiet question makes Gavin snarl. He can take it. He doesn’t need the android's fucking concern.

“I need an objective answer, detective. Are we done here?"

“Not … yet …” Gavin wheezes.

“Very well."

Nines drags him back to his knees by his hair, then waits for Gavin to get in proper position again. But this time, he pauses a moment before hitting him. Gavin tries to ask what the hell he’s looking at, but all that comes out is a broken groan. Nines seems to understand anyway.

“I am deciding if I like this look on you better than choking."

Gavin wanted to make the android hit him at least one more time before giving in, but the way RK900 says that—like Gavin amounts to nothing more than an idle curiosity—like he’s deciding between toast or a bagel—

“ _Please_."

Nines considers him for another moment, and Gavin shudders under such a cold stare.

“Two more,” RK900 decides.

Gavin nods, taking in a deep breath. He straightens his spine, slow and deliberate, and lifts his chin to meet RK900’s gaze head on. He almost imagines he spots approval in those frozen eyes before he’s smacked down to the floor again.

The tears start then, but that doesn’t mean he’s done. He can take it. He can be good. He can—

The tightness around his wrists releases suddenly, hands rubbing over the indentations. It feels more clinical than comforting, but he can’t stand it when people feel sorry for him anyway. He accepts the hand that moves to squeeze the back of his neck but lurches away from the one sliding underneath his arm to help him sit back up.

Neither hand lets him get away. Once he’s keeling again, RK900 stands and moves back in front of him.

“I’m not taking your dick out for you too."

Gavin gives a wet laugh, half-choked from the adrenaline and the tears. Nines doesn’t seem to care that he’s crying. Small mercies. He fumbles with his jeans zipper worse than he did with his keys, but his luck holds as Nines stays right in front of him until he gets his cock out.

“One more."

He looks up to see Nines undo his cufflinks and start rolling up the sleeve on his right arm. God, fuck not having a dick, he could go into porn just doing that. Gavin strokes himself roughly as Nines does the same to his left sleeve. He gets a split second glance at the palm of the android’s right hand as it works, tinged bright blue from hitting him so hard.

Gavin grips the base of his cock with a strangled moan to keep from coming right then. Nines notices with an incredulous frown. It’s possibly the most expression Gavin’s ever seen on his face before.

“Really, Gavin. I’m not even touching you."

Gavin whimpers and closes his eyes. A hand cups his bruised cheek, thumb pressing in to make him gasp. Nines has used his right hand to his left cheek this whole time. Gavin lets him turn his face from side to side to appreciate the difference, mouth automatically dropping open when his thumb drifts too close.

“Perhaps I should invest in a toolbox,” Nines murmurs.

Gavin tries to chase the thumb, but RK900 grips his jaw too tight, thumb pressing into his lower lip.

“Or maybe just a sturdy wrench."

Gavin’s eyes fly open as he catches the android’s meaning, Nines grinning smugly down at him. He attempts to beg even before Nines releases his jaw.

“Please, fuck—please, sir! Nines, _please_!"

“One more."

The hand comes back to stroke over his bruised cheek as Gavin nods desperately, stripping his cock rough and fast. He’s too fucking close for dignity. His eyes drift shut as his orgasm builds—the only thing he needs—Nines trailing his fingers over the left side of his face so fucking gently—just one more--

Nines slaps him with his left hand for the first time. Gavin’s coming before he even hits the floor, the shock of it making him sob at his partner’s feet. He can barely keep his hand wrapped around his dick, but that doesn’t seem to matter as he curls up and comes all over himself.

When his brain finally starts working again, he feels like he’s been fucked into a different dimension. A different spirituality. Veganism, shit.

“You got cum on my shoes.” RK900’s voice cracks through the room like a whip. “You know what I said about that."

Gavin opens bleary eyes to look at the fucking pristine black shoes in front of him. For the first time this whole fucked up evening, alarms start sounding in his head.

“Did--” His voice cracks embarrassingly. “I did not!"

RK900 takes an unnecessary breath to reply, but Gavin’s already yelling over him.

“I didn’t! I was _good_!"

Nines crouches back down to meet his hateful glare eye to eye. “You were good. I want you to lick my shoes. The search I ran indicates this is called role-play."

Gavin blinks, swallowing down the roughness in his throat. He was good. Nines admitted it. He squeezes his eyes shut so more tears don’t escape.

“Unless we’re done here."

The not-question isn’t reassuring or gentle. Gavin doubts RK900 has that sort of capacity. Good. The nearly-clinical tone lets him shove down his own disgusting feelings so he doesn’t fucking embarrass himself anymore.

“M’sorry I got come on your shoes,” he mutters, voice steady this time. “Sir."

Nines places his fingers at Gavin’s temple, hesitating for a split second before running them into his hair. Gavin lets out a frustrated whine. He doesn’t want to be fucking comforted—but RK900’s grip tightens into a painful hold before he can complain.

“Show me you can be a good boy."

Fuck yes, that’s better. Gavin nods as much as he can without ripping his own hair out. Nines releases him and stands back up. It’s difficult to concentrate after such an intense orgasm, but Gavin tries hard and manages to focus on the shoes in front of him. He leans down, stomach settling over his thighs, arms at his sides, practically kow-towing to the android.

The taste of leather is familiar. Much more comforting than any sort of pussy shit cuddling. This is simple. He starts licking at the pointed tip and continues in broad strokes down the side.

He can’t get any cases more complicated than an alley mugging gone wrong because Fowler hates him, but at least he can fucking accomplish this task.

Eventually, even his frustration at work fades as his senses narrow to the taste of leather, the strain from holding the position, and the sound of Nines murmuring something about proper training. He’s a little disappointed when he finishes cleaning both already-perfect shoes.

Then Nines grabs his hair in that vice grip again and calls him a good boy. Gavin’s so out of it, he might even mumble a thank you in response. Nines says something else, but he’s finally at his limit. He’ll fall asleep right here on the floor in a puddle of his own cum, he doesn’t fucking care. Not the worst way he’s ever spent a night.

Nines must disagree though, because the next moment, the room is flying around him. Then it’s all upside down.

Fuck, he’s upside down.

Gavin flails weakly against the fireman’s hold as Nines carries him to his bedroom, but all he gets is a sharp slap to his ass. That quiets him long enough for Nines to drop him onto the bed, and the soft horizontal surface is all Gavin needs to pass the fuck out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next chapter will be the next morning. Nines doesn't know fuck buddies generally don't stay the night and scares the shit out of Gavin in the morning, lmao


	4. Author's Note

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> just a quick explanation of where this series is headed. but don't worry, there's lots more content!

hey it's ya demon, Morgan. I reworked what my plan for this series was, so this actually doesn't have another chapter. the good news is that I'll post a new fic in just a second that picks up two weeks later, so there's still a lot more content for these two! so much that I'm not even trying to keep it all in one fic like my HankCon one. I'm breaking this series up into lots of individual fics instead, so people can pop in and out wherever they'd like and I can take some breaks in between fics instead of leaving a single work on hiatus

anyway, the next part in this series is Ain't Got Time to Bleed. you can find it by clicking "next work in series" down below, and I have it completely written out--which is way it took so fucking long for me to put it up. it goes a lot deeper into Nines and Gavin starting to actually work together as partners, _especially_ for how Nines is handling that. I wanted to make sure I got his voice exactly right and all my plot bunnies in a row before I posted anything, but again, good news: I'll be able to update it steadily without any long gaps between chapters!

thanks for all of your patience and comments so far, and I hope to see y'all over in the new fic too <3

**Author's Note:**

> don't worry, there will be smut, I'm just dumping all of my trauma as an asexual person on Nines real quick first. Gavin can have my daddy issues. love these trash boys


End file.
